


The Collapse

by Trash



Category: Linkin Park
Genre: Angst, M/M, Murder, Telepathy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-31
Updated: 2014-01-31
Packaged: 2018-01-10 17:07:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1162314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trash/pseuds/Trash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mike doesn't know how to be poor</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Collapse

**Author's Note:**

> It's just one of those days where nothing feels right

Chester is rolling about on his back with his knees drawn up to his chest whilst some soothing whale mating calls play on the CD player in the background and Mike says, “What the hell are you doing?”

“I am stimulating my kidneys. I am letting my negative energy become planted into the ground to grow positive again.”

Like that’s an answer.

“Right. Well. Your boss called. He wanted to know if you were sick and I told him I thought you had left but it turns out you haven’t and that you are sick – in the head.”

Chester sighs deeply and stretches out, his hands pressed together above his head as if he were praying. “My boss doesn’t like me.” He says. “It’s only a matter of time before he fires me anyway. So I might as well give him a good reason.”

“This is such bullshit, Chester. You know I can’t support us both.”

“And you know I am not going to stay at a hideous nine to five like the king of the slaves. I’m not like you, Mike. The money we have, I could live off that for the rest of my life without crying over it. You are the one who felt the need to buy a thirty dollar blender.”

Mike steps over to the CD player and turns off the whale music but Chester doesn’t sit up. “I bought the blender because I thought if we had some appliances we could have a better quality of living.”

Still praying to nobody in particular Chester flexes his bare toes to the ceiling and says, “You wasting thirty bucks on a blender we have no food to put in didn’t buy me a better quality of anything, Mike, so shut the fuck up.”

Mike grabs his name badge from the coffee table and pins it to his shirt. “Look. Chester. I have to go to work, in five minutes, I have to leave. And you’re already late. So I suggest we both ride the bus together and you go apologise to your boss.”

“I’m not going to work today. I am going to meditate.”

“Go to fucking work.”

“You know what Mike? You’re all about being a key player in the rat race but even if you win you’re still a rat. You’re a rat and you’re king of the slaves. I’m not going to work in a fucking office again today. But I’ll pray for you, oh king.”

This happens every morning.

And when it doesn’t Chester hides Mike’s door keys and he has to climb out of the window.

He walks towards the front door and ignores Chester in the background going, “All hail!”

***

Mike resists the urge to call Chester all day and tries hard to focus. There isn’t enough room on the unit for all the electrical stock he’s been given to put out but his boss insists it must all be on display so he’s busy playing a slightly less fun Rubik’s cube type game with microwaves and kettles.

By the time his shift is over the stuff still isn’t shelved, but all that is running through his head as he tries to cram it all on one more time is Chester calling him king of the slaves and he puts all the extra stock back in the warehouse and clocks out.

When he gets home all their plants are dead.

“What the hell?” He murmurs to himself as he wanders through the living room past the dead flowers and the dead spider plant and the dead cactus. “What the hell?”

Chester is sitting at the kitchen table with a spider trapped under a jar and he’s just staring at it and mumbling under his breath. Mike watches as the spider goes from trying desperately to escape to rolling over on its back and twitching once, twice, then stopping altogether.

“Oh.” Chester says, looking a little bemused.

“Did you just torture that spider to death? And what the hell happened to the plants?”

“The food you buy for them is six dollars a box.” Chester says as he gets up and puts the spider in the trash and the jar in the sink. “Six dollars and you only get enough to feed them once. And I was thinking about how fucking stupid it is that the plants eat better than I do and how much I hate them and they all died.”

“You put bleach in them, didn’t you?”

“No! I didn’t. I just thought how much better life would be without them hogging like, six bucks a week off of us and they all died. Like the spider. I thought about how annoying it’ll be when he turns up in the tub or something later and how much I fucking hate spiders and he just died.”

Just so you know – Mike doesn’t buy any of this.

“Chester…did you call your boss?”

“No. I sat around all day thinking about how much I hate that job. I think he’s dead.”

“If this is you acting out or whatever because I won’t stay home all day with you and…torture plants…then…”

“I’m not acting out, asshole,” Chester snaps. “I’m fine with all of this. You’re the one who doesn’t know how to be poor. Luckily, food stamps suit me.”

Mike stares at him blankly and pulls of his plastic name tag, throwing it down on the table. “Your spiritual bullshit, your negative energy killing my plants, none of that will pay the rent.” He says.

He turns on his heel angrily and storms out of the room and across the living to their bedroom and slams the door.

Chester glares at the door angrily and grits his teeth.

And somewhere in the bedroom, Mike’s body hits the floor.


End file.
